A Little Too Much To Drink
by Kiki's Fan Service
Summary: McCoy reveals his feelings to a dead-drunk Jim because he knows Jim won't remember it, only to find out the next day that Jim heard and remembered everything he said. Fluff and confessions of love ensue. K/Mc


McKirk Reboot is hot!

Enjoy the fluff!

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James Kirk was in tears, half drunk. Sober enough to know what was going on, but drunk enough that the edges of everything were slightly blurry. 'Good,' he thought. He had flopped down in a corner of the bar, beer in hand, quiet for once. And now both Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy and Mr. Spock were looking down at him, slightly removed. Spock looked uncomfortable, the tips of his pointed ears a light green. McCoy looked annoyed.

"Goddammit, Jim," he swore at the captain.

Kirk looked up at him with tears glistening on his cheeks. "Bones," he mumbled. Downright pathetic, the doctor thought. Sighing, McCoy leaned down and lifted Kirk up by his elbows. Spock looked lightly flustered as Kirk grasped onto McCoy like his life depended on it, one fist gripping the nearly empty bottle, the other full of the doctor's blue medical uniform shirt. Bones almost started yelling at Jim for getting drunk AGAIN, for letting this happen AGAIN, getting teary in a goddamn bar AGAIN (confusing Spick as he mumbled this tirade on their way over to Kirk. "Doctor? How often does this type of event occur?" "It used to happen all the time, in the academy… either that or he was in a bar fight. But I didn't expect… I thought his responsibility would mild him down… even today. And it did…but not enough. Not today." And that was the part that confused the heck out of Spock.)

But he looked so sad, so sweet. 'Beautiful' echoed through the doctor's head, and, just as quickly as it arrived, the thought departed. He shook his head, flustered, and tried to concentrate on helping the sad kid in his arms.

Spock shifted slightly as McCoy coaxed Jim up and away from the alcohol and tears. Rocking the young captain slightly, Bones mumbled in his ear affectionately "C'mon, darlin'. Let's get you out of here. It'll be okay. It's not your fault, darlin', not your fault. Nothing expected of ya 'bout it, nothing you can help…" And tears welled up in his Kirk's eyes again as Bones comforted him. Bones knew Kirk didn't believe him, but it was all he could do.

It was Kirk's birthday. No one knew this, apart from Bones. Spock, and everyone else for that matter, assumed that Kirk just liked getting wasted once in a while. It hadn't really been noticed that he disappeared every year on this day. Except for Bones. And every year, he had to drag Kirk back to their apartment, and now Jim's quarters on the Enterprise, and they would, and still do, sit in silence until Jim broke it, telling Bones all about his life, his childhood, what he heard about his father, his fears, his dreams. Everything. Because it wasn't Jim's birthday. It never had been. It was his fathers death day. And Jim never forgot it.

Jim was steady on his feet, thank god. Bones had grabbed the bottle from his best friend's hand, and now he began to move away. But he was locked in Jim's grip. Sighing, and feeling slightly nostalgic, (goddammit what had age done to him!?) he held Jim against him, hearing both their heartbeats slow in each other's arms, and eventually make their way to the Enterprise and Jim's quarters. Spock nodded at the affection, and stepped forward, grabbing the bottle Bones had placed on the floor next to them, and left to dispose of the bottle. He thought he heard a soft "thank ya, Spock" from the gruff doctor, but he couldn't be sure, thanks to the pounding music. The Vulcan left quickly, preferring a night of meditation in his room to the raucous noise of a bar on some godforsaken planet where they were docked.

As the two, doctor and captain, made their way to the ship, McCoy, one arm around Jim's shoulder, paid their tab and nodded quickly to the bartender, who knew enough to look away and pretend to ignore the drunk captain and his sober CMO leaving the bar.

"Jim."

"Yeah, sup, Bones?"

"You okay?"

"Mmmmhhhmmm…" And that did not sound at all convincing to McCoy, as he keyed in Kirk's password to his room and dragged the captain to his bed and watched him sprawl across it, small choked sobs still being released into the otherwise quiet room.

McCoy didn't know how long he sat there, thinking, listening as Kirk's breathing slowly calmed, slowed, watching tears stream down smooth cheeks, smelling the harsh alcohol as it wafted from Jim's body like a perfume.

He frowned at Kirk, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Jim." He watched the young captain and murmured to himself, knew that he shouldn't be talking, should let Kirk talk like always, let things end like normal. But he couldn't. He loved the idiot. Loved him to death. Jim was his anchor, his best friend, his confidant, and, though he would never have admitted to it to anyone, the man that he was passionately in love with. His crush, if you will. And here that man was, slobbering over himself like a damn basset hound, face wet and red, and McCoy still saw, still knew how fucking amazing and wonderful and beautiful he was.

McCoy sat down on the side of the bed. "Fuck it all." He sighed to himself, as Jim closed his eyes and rolled toward him, his breaths easing into the monotony and comfort of sleep.

McCoy watched him sleep. He loved watched Jim sleep. He finally calmed down, and he looked so innocent and vulnerable. Watching Jim like this, after seeing all the stress he was under, just made him so sad, so guilty. And he muttered to himself, "Goddammit. I'm such a god-awful son of a bitch. How can I help, Jim? You gorgeous, pathetic bastard. You can't keep blaming yourself. Your dad died, but it's not the end of the world. It's your birthday. It should be a happy day. Right? Hon, you need help. You need relief. So much goddamn responsibility, so much crap in your life. Too many drinks. Too many women. Humph. Too much work. You're reaching unhealthy, darlin'. It's not good. The whole thing is just… Its killing you, Jim!! I can't take it. I can't fucking take it." He took a deep breath, and laced his hand through Kirk's open one. "I love you too much to take it." And a tear slid down the doctor's cheek.

Kirk's eyes slid open just a little bit, and McCoy felt his face redden as he tried to slide his hand out of the captain's. To his great surprise, Kirk just squeezed his hand tighter, and cuddled his face into the doctor's thigh.

"Bones," He murmured thickly. "I'm not that drunk yet."

"I'm sorry, Jim." McCoy hung his head, one hand running through his dark brown hair. "I just had to say it. Dead drunk seemed as good a time as any. Probably the best reaction I could have gotten." Or expected, he thought to himself, but shook his head slightly, trying to chase away those hopeful, sappy, romantic imaginings.

Kirk grinned toothily at McCoy. "'m not dead drunk, Bones. Juuuuust drunk enuff."

"Drunk enough to forget what I said?"

Jim shook his head ferociously. "Noooooo! Nev'r inna mill-yon years. No siree. No siree bob." Then he hung his head, for all the world looking like a puppy that just got called a bad dog. "Don't wanna forget, Bones. Ah love yoo too."

McCoy blinked. He stared at the drunk, nearly incomprehensible man next to him. 'Did he just say… No. Of course not. He's pissing drunk. Now's no time to take about feelings and romantic shit. Hell no. That would just spell disaster.'

"Jim. You need to get some sleep."

"K. Sorry, Bones. Sorry 'm so damn drunk. 'S too bad. Ah almost got me uh boyfriend. S'okay. Don' worry. I gots the ship. She's okay, ah'm okay."

"Good night, Jim."

"Bones!" The doctor wheeled around.

"Yes, Jim?"

The captain looked up shyly. "Could you… uh…"

"What?"

"Could you … call me 'Darlin' again? Makes me feel shpecial."

"Sure thing." He walked back to the bed, relying on the high probability that the captain wouldn't remember this in the morning. He took Jim in his arms, and kissed him softly. He backed off just slightly, so their lips were just about to touch. "I love you, darlin'" he breathed, tasting the alcohol and cinnamon on Jim's breath. He brushed his lips softly across the captain's, and drew away, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Sleep now. You are loved, always and forever, Jim."

'God I hope he forgets all this in the morning. That is going to be damn hard to explain.'

Next Morning

McCoy was awakened by the incessant bleeping of the alarm clock. He quickly stifled the noise, and got up. He was aching all over, and he had the beginnings of a hangover. And then he remembered what he had done the night before, and his eyes widened as he shimmied his regulation pajama pants off and grabbed a pair of slacks. He made his way to the bathroom, setting the shower to the proper temperature (hot) and sliding in. He mused over the previous night, going over what he had said, and what Jim had said. He had actually told his best friend, James T. Kirk, the captain of the USS Enterprise, that he was in love with him. And not only that, of all the god damn things to happen, Jim woke up and told McCoy he loved him back. Too bad the kid was shit-faced drunk at the time, or this would have been an amazing, hardcore man-on-man romance. If only… Leonard McCoy sighed at the pitiful reality.

Finally finished with his shower, McCoy stepped out of the cubicle and toweled himself off, his hair still dripping in his eyes. He rubbed the towel through his hair, and pulled on his Fleet briefs and pants and made his way back to his closet, towel around his neck, hair in his eyes, humming an old country song. Then he caught a movement in peripheral vision and turned around quickly, his heart in his throat. There was the same James Tiberius Kirk who was on his mind. Feeling completely awkward and uncomfortable, McCoy looked the kid once over, quickly. He raised his eyebrows at Jim's obvious adrenaline and nervousness that seemed to be just about racing through his bloodstream. Or maybe it was just because he knew the kid so damn well. Either way, Jim was going to do something, even if neither of them were sure what it was.

Kirk, on the other hand, was staring at the person before him, one might say ogling. He was definitely attracted to Bones, and he couldn't deny it. The man was smart, honest, loyal, had a wicked sense of humor, and was smoking hot. And here he was, Leonard McCoy, Kirk already thinking of him, knowing that he's hot, and he's goddamn shirtless, and his hair is falling in his eyes, and it's so gorgeous that Kirk can actually feel his mouth begin to water.

"Can I help ya, Jim?" McCoy's gruff voice broke Kirk out of his stupor, not that it did much good.

"uh…. Well… um…"

"Feeling rather eloquent today, are we?"

"Stop it, Bones." He mumbled, his eyes downcast.

NOW McCoy knew something was wrong. "What is it, kid? You okay?" His tone was gruff, but hidden underneath, he was all panic and worry. Either, Jim had screwed something up, or he simply did something stupid that McCoy was going to chide him about, or … he knew something that made him anxious. And McCoy knew what it was. Because McCoy had said it. Last night. 'Shit. Shit, shit, shit.' He thought, watching Jim bouncing around on the balls of his feet, looking anxious.

"C'mon, Jim. We're going to the gym. You have way too much bottled-up energy to just stand there and stare at me. We've got about two hours until our shifts, and you need to get some energy out. Okay?"

Jim just stared at him. He had a blinding hangover and felt like shit, but the good doctor was right. He could not stand still, nor think straight, and that was rare. He watched as McCoy slipped a shirt on and grabbed 2 gym bags from his closet. He tossed one to Kirk, and muttered "They're all your size" before leading the way out the door, grabbing a comb and dragging it through his hair as he went. Kirk followed, still slightly confused.

They were in the gym, McCoy on the treadmill and Jim furiously attacking a punching bag, when McCoy decided he couldn't take it any longer. He had to know if Kirk had heard him talking, if he remembered anything, if he remembered the important parts of that conversation.

"Hey! Jim! Give the poor thing a rest and come over here for a sec!" He yelled across the gym as he stopped running and grabbed some water. Jim sauntered over with his towel on his shoulder. McCoy had to stop himself from licking his lips at the sight of the hot, sweaty, sexy man in front of him.

"I need some answers." He sounded calm enough, but he was truly panicking about how this was going to turn out. He knew that something was going to happen, even though he didn't know what… yet.

Jim shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking utterly uncomfortable. Well, McCoy certainly knew how he felt. He rubbed his palms together in subtle anticipation, as Jim opened his mouth to speak.

"Bones…" It was almost a sigh. "Bones… I heard everything you said last night. I remember everything that you said, that I said. How I felt. And… well…" McCoy blinked 8 times in rapid succession before he could hear the rest of Kirk's sentence.

And he interrupted the captain's stammering, cutting him off with a clever finger to the lips. "Well, Jim… I stand by what I said. It didn't come out right the first time. You were so drunk. But now, I'll tell you. Jim. I love you. You are my best friend, my drinking buddy, my fantasy. You are my everything. I want you to be my everything."

James Tiberius Kirk was speechless, his eyes wide, his heart throbbing wildly against his ribs, his fingers tingling with excess adrenaline. He simply stood, unmoving, as his best friend stepped towards him and linked their hands together, as he brought his rough pink lips to press against Jim's own.

McCoy drew back slightly, a smile on his lips, and winked at the stunned captain. "So are we official… darlin'?" He whispered coyly, the taste of peaches and mint washing against Jim's lips. Jim groaned and brought one hand to the back of Bones' head and kissed him deeply. McCoy took that as a yes and smiled into the kiss and pulled away again, grabbing Jim's hand from behind his head and intertwining their fingers together. With a final soft peck, the doctor left, a broad smile gracing his gruff features as he made his way to sick bay for his shift. He had a feeling he was going to be the most pleasant doctor he, and probably the entire crew, had ever seen.


End file.
